


The Words to Define

by treefrogie84



Category: Fandom Fandom - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, Episode: s10e05 Fan Fiction, Gen, I hope the NSA enjoys our search histories, I know nothing about how tv is made, no squid hats were harmed in the writing of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treefrogie84/pseuds/treefrogie84
Summary: “Gilbert! New assignment for you,” Director Sharpe calls across the office. “Some jackhole in LA is researching how to build a bomb and how many people fit in a shipping container.  And something about angels.”
Relationships: No Homo Intern & Gilbert the NSA Agent
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	The Words to Define

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by “[How Do You Talk to an Angel” by The Heights](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=csATriX8Ed0). No, I can’t explain how these collided in my head either other than if you tell me to find a one hit wonder character, I’m going to go with Gilbert (the guy who actually used his poncho in 10.05 Fan Fiction). Also, I miss Fandom Fandom, the No Homo Intern, and Robbie.
> 
> I do recommend reading this with Skins on, as I went to a lot of trouble to make excerpts look like scripts. Many thanks to SuperWiki for both the transcript for 9.06 and what spn scripts actually look like.
> 
> (edited to correct tags since I tagged the wrong episodes)

“Gilbert! New assignment for you,” Director Sharpe calls across the office. “Some jackhole in LA is researching how to build a bomb and how many people fit in a shipping container. And something about angels.”

Gilbert frowns, standing up to take the folder from the Director. “Yes, ma’am.” The folder doesn’t have much-- a few sheets of paper with his target’s preferred online hangouts, common search terms, and IP address information. Frowning, he drops the folder on his desk and grabs his coffee mug. Before he starts, more coffee is definitely necessary.

Sarah and Melonie are discussing some TV show around the coffee pot, probably whatever their current targets are watching-- it’s not uncommon for NSA agents to join their target’s groups, even if they just lurk in the background, watching, waiting. Gilbert kinda wants to ask about it, it sounds like something directly up his alley, but he’s already considered the office weirdo, he doesn’t need to add to that.

Back at his desk, he opens the file and gets to work. The trackers are already installed by a lower level agent to keep him abreast of his target’s movements online and then he can start sifting through the existing information to determine exactly what this asshole is up to.

**Google Searches:**

  * how much blood can someone lose and still maintain an erection?
  * poisons that look like food poisoning
  * surface area of the human skeleton?
  * Blast radius of C4 vs TNT?
  * heroin cost USD
  * blueprints governor’s mansion Idaho



“Holy shit,” David lets out a low whistle behind Gilbert. “Someone’s a bad bad boy.”

“Maybe.” Gilbert scrolls down some more, glancing over the more mundane results-- vet clinic hours, restaurant locations in Vancouver, shopping for a new wrist brace-- “Or they just look up some really weird shit.”

“Writers don’t make it past the algorithms, Gil. If he’s being suspicious enough to get eyes? There’s something hinky.”

“It’s Gilbert,” he mutters to David’s retreating back. Grunting, he navigates away from the searches to see what else he can see.

Three sleepless days later, he’s determined that a) they _are_ a writer; 2) for some genre TV show that Gilbert has a passing acquaintance with; and c) they are actively trying to no-homo one of the main characters. Except they’re also very bad at their job.

Flat out terrible at it. They can’t even pull off continuity!

EXT. GAS STATION PARKING LOT – MORNING

The Impala pulls into the lot in front of the Gas & Sip.

INT. IMPALA – PMP – SAME

**DEAN**

Listen, Cas … Back at the bunker, I, uh... Sorry I told you to go. I know it's been hard on you, you know, on your own. Well, you're adapting. I'm proud of you.

**CASTIEL**

Thank you, Dean. (Sighs) But there's something Ephraim said. The angels – they need help. Can I really sit this out? Shouldn't I be searching for a way to get them home?

**DEAN**

Me and Sam will take care of the angels. You're human now. It's not your problem anymore.

CASTIEL gets out of the car, looks in through the window at DEAN, and they wave goodbye to each other. CASTIEL walks to the Gas'n'Sip and unlocks the door as DEAN starts up the Impala.

CASTIEL does the coffee, puts the cash drawer in the cash register. Turns on the TV:

**TV NEWS ANNOUNCER**

_It's been weeks since the massive meteor storm, yet Idaho Falls astronomers still have unanswered questions. NASA and Washington are both continuing to study the phenomenon._

CASTIEL switches off the TV and goes to look out the window, moodily.

Gilbert huffs in disgust at such incompetence before refilling his coffee again. Anyone can see that Dean and Castiel are in love, possibly already sleeping together. Trying to shove all that under the rug just leaves a very large, very visible, lump.

 **MEMO**  
To: Todd  
From: Bobo  
Jeremy wanted me to check with you. You’re sure having such a large time gap between acts 4 and 5 isn’t too much? With Cass being homeless and all

 **MEMO**  
To: Bobo; Jeremy  
From: Todd  
The fans won’t think anything of it. If any of them notice. Dean’s just dropping off his buddy at work. Everyone’s done that a time or two. I’ll get Jeremy to okay it. We’ve already shown both Cass and Dean like women this season.

“Todd” (not his real name, although Gilbert hasn’t been able to discover who he actually is) is being deliberately bad at his job. He seems to be actively encouraging the subtext, to the point where it barely is.

“I’m flying out to LA for a few days,” he tells Director Sharpe, dropping the much thicker file folder on her desk weeks later. “I cannot figure this guy out. I want eyes on him.”

“You are not a field agent. What do you think is going to happen? You’ll walk into a coffee shop and just know who he is?”

Gilbert shrugs. “I’m pretty sure he’s not a terrorist. But a propagandist? Yes.” It’s a lie, but she won’t notice.

Director Sharpe frowns before pulling the folder over. She looks through it slowly, barely glancing at the more damning pieces of evidence in favor of the blood and guts section. “Your ‘not a terrorist’ sure is interested in guns. And explosives. And public facilities.”

“And street medicine and folklore,” Gilbert points out. “I know his habits now, I know where he’ll be, and I’m going.”

She sniffs but pushes the file back towards him. “Fine. You have three days-- I want you back by Friday.”

  


* * *

LA, even in the depths of winter, is significantly warmer than DC, to the point where Gilbert is sweating as he pulls open the door to the coffee shop. From the outside, Toque A Sip looks like a generic coffee shop-- not a chain, although its not far from it-- but the inside explodes with color and life.

Well, kind of life. The shop isn’t rush hour busy, but nearly every chair is taken by someone with a computer (or tablet and keyboard) and a variety of weird hats. As one, they turn to look at Gilbert’s nearly bare head-- a simple baseball cap!-- and return to their work, doing... whatever it is that they’re doing. Writing, mostly, he’s pretty sure.

Quietly, Gilbert takes his latte and finds an abandoned table, near enough the register that he can hear what people are ordering and gets set up. He’s barely finished when he hears the sweetest words he’s heard since telling his cat good morning.

“Todd! My squid brother! How goes the show?”

All Gilbert can see is the large pink-orange body of a... yep, that’s a squid hat, stuffed tentacles trailing down the man’s back. He’s here. The man who’s been driving him nuts for the last six months.

“I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up,” Todd admits. “Singer is starting to get suspicious, and this latest script...”

“You are doing good work, my friend.” The barista lets out something that Gilbert _thinks_ is supposed to be an evil laugh. “Soon they’ll realize nothing can stop the queers!”

“Pffft,” Todd says, starting to look around. “I’m pretty sure I can get at least this one on screen.”

The barista nods sympathetically, and hands Todd his drink-- not that he ordered it, Gilbert notes. He must be in here far more frequently than suspected. Something is not right about this entire thing, actually.

Gilbert has come to the conclusion, after months of study, that Todd is just bad at his job. His job title may have been “Production Assistant for Script Continuity” but reading the memos made it clear that his (unpaid, thankless) job was to keep the gay out of Supernatural. Except he didn’t. If a slight tweak could be made to make two of the main characters less in love with each other, Todd cranked the dial all the way to banging each other between scenes.

It was infuriating back in the office in DC, but that one eavesdropped conversation...

Todd’s not _bad_ at his job. Todd is _brilliant_ at his job, it’s just not the job he’s been assigned. He has an agenda and he’s going for it-- possibly with the cooperation of the other writers? Producers? The entire crew?

Gilbert leans back and closes his eyes as the puzzle pieces fall into place.

“You’re new,” Todd says from really close by. Across the table nearby.

“Yeah, I, uh...” Gilbert swallows. Nothing in training ever mentioned being confronted with the subject of your investigation. “I’m here from out of town? And needed to get some work done?” Why did he phrase that as a question?

Todd chuckles, pushing his tentacles behind him and gesturing. “Do you mind sharing? The rest of the tables are full.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure. Go ahead.” He winces-- he sounds like an idiot-- but pulls his computer further to his side of the table, hoping that Todd doesn’t know enough about computers to notice that his is not a standard issue laptop.

Todd nods, carefully setting his coffee down and getting set up. Gilbert watches him, subtly, trying to figure him out. The squid hat distracts from his face, which makes him think that it’s probably on purpose. To compound that, Todd wears a cartoonishly large fake mustache that covers up a good chunk of his face.

Gilbert knows the face under the mustache, he just can’t place it right now.

Settling in, they both get to to work, Gilbert responding to emails and requests for information and Todd... doing whatever he does.

Gilbert’s latte has gone cold when Todd looks up in a huff. “You said you were from out of town, right? You’re not part of this whole...” he spins his hand around in a circle.

“Everything I know about TV and movies, I learned from TVs and movies,” Gilbert says earnestly. It’s not even a lie. Now that he knows the score, he doesn’t want to lie to Todd. Fuck terrorism, getting a hyper-masculine guy out as queer on network TV? And in a relationship? Like hell he’s going to fuck that up for anyone.

“Perfect.” Todd taps his fingers on the side of his computer. “Mind being a sounding board? If you’re busy...”

“No, It’s fine. I’m not working on anything with a deadline.”

“Alright.” Todd glances over his screen before half closing it. “Boy meets Boy. Boy falls in love with Boy, drama happens, they can’t be together because reasons-- both Watsonian and Doylist. How do I show that they’re still in love?”

Gilbert thinks back over the last several weeks of scripts and memos he’s seen and nods. “Have one give up something super important to save the other. That level of devotion...”

“And could be read as brother-in-arms too. Perfect. Thanks.”

“Yeah, no problem.”

They both settle down and get back to work. Todd asks a few more questions as they work, although nothing as massive as that. In the end, they trade email addresses so they can continue to use each other as sounding boards.

  


* * *

“Did you get what you needed?” Director Sharpe demands as soon as Gilbert walks into the office Friday morning.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll have a full report on your desk this afternoon,” Gilbert says weakly.

“Good. Your expense report too.” She glares at him, barely disguised anger in her eyes. “There’s a new assignment on your desk. I want a full work up by Monday.”

“Yes, Director.” Gilbert slinks off to his desk, trying to figure out what he did to piss her off. He hasn’t even spoken to her since Monday afternoon and now...

Sighing, he drops off his coat and briefcase and grabs his coffee mug. Back to the grind.

The new assignment is awful-- not because the target is awful, but because no matter what anyone who knows what they’re talking about says, the government has decided that black Muslims are all terrorists. Gilbert hates it, but he’s not sure what he can do about it. A teenager might conceivably be a threat, somehow, but this one is just playing Call of Duty with his friends, trying to figure out what he wants to do with his life.

If he was white and/or Christian, no one would be looking at him twice.

Most of Gilbert’s investigations end that way-- dismissed because it’s people being people.

Occasionally, he finds himself looking into Todd again, trying to see where the story is going, making anonymous comments on drafts, even as he watches it live on Thursday evenings (sitting alone in his apartment, wishing he’d picked a different way to use his computer skills to earn a living).

He didn’t even realize he had a pattern-- or that someone else had been watching him-- until he sees the end of season memo open on Todd’s desktop.

 **MEMO**  
To: Friendly Minneapolis Twins Supporting NSA Agent Who’s Been Tracking Me; Jeremy  
From: Todd  
Yes, I knew who you were when we met in the coffee shop. You’re not a very good field agent. I’m sure you have my phone number, stop spying and call me. I have an idea for the 200th episode that I think you’ll enjoy.

Gilbert sucks in a breath at the boldness. He doesn’t know if this is actually a sign or if he’s just really sick of his job, but he’s taking it. He has enough in savings to make it work, whatever _it_ ends up being.

He has Todd’s phone number memorized, has for months, ever since Todd passed him a simple business card with an email address and phone number and nothing else. Either way, he doesn’t need his access to Todd’s files.

 **MEMO**  
To: Todd; Jeremy  
From: Gilbert  
Tonight. Eastern.

Free will is a glorious thing.

* * *

“You’re doing what for the two hundredth episode?” Gilbert pulls his phone away from his ear. “Isn’t that a little on the meta side?”

Todd laughs. “That’s the point. You’ve seen it all by now, right? The fourth wall does not exist on this show.”

“And they’re going to let you write it.”

“Well, no. I have a bunch of other things on my plate. But Robbie’s good for it. He’s written most of the super meta eps since he joined the staff.”

“I still don’t understand where I’ll fit in.”

“But you’ll do it?”

“I--” Gilbert sputters before admitting defeat. He will. Of course he will.

“Great. Let me get Robbie in on this.” The line goes dead for a few seconds before Todd is back, with a second voice. “Robbie, you there? Gil?”

“Uh, yeah,” Gilbert stutters at the same time as someone else.

“Right, Robbie, Gilbert’s my friendly NSA agent.”

“Who’s?” Robbie asks wryly. “The No Homo Intern’s or--”

“Wait, that really was your title?” Gilbert bursts out, half giggling. “I knew you were bad at your job but... you’ve managed to do the exact opposite.”

Todd snorts. “I’ve very good at my job. Both of them. Singer and the network execs are just that caught up in the past.”

Gilbert wants to ask-- he’s known the entire time that Todd is an alias, but this sounds significantly more involved than he thought. And that’s with the knowledge that he’s successfully maintained both identities long enough to convince the NSA they’re two separate people.

“Anyway, it’s the Friday after the season finale, what do you want Jer-- Todd? Don’t you have some drinking to do? I sure do.”

“Robbie, you get the two hundredth episode,” Todd says frankly. “I’ve got some ideas, but what do you want to do with it?”

“What? I...” Robbie trails off. “I figured you’d want it, or Andrew.”

“Nope,” Todd pops the ‘p’. “We’ll go over everything once we’re back in the office, but it’s yours.”

“Wow. OK.” Robbie goes silent for a long moment, long enough Gilbert wonders if he should just hang up the phone and let them hash this out in private. He doesn’t need to be here for this, doesn’t need--

“Gilbert, how do you feel about being in an episode?”

“Um, I’m not going to say it’s my fondest wish or anything, but I think it’s time for a career change anyway.”

“Awesome,” Robbie says with a smile in his voice. “I can work with that. It’ll need to be special... OK, boss. I got this.”

“Kick it in the ass,” Todd says with unusual gravity. “I’ll talk to you in a few weeks when we start to get organized.”

Robbie hangs up, clearly distracted.

“Why me?” Gilbert asks quietly.

“It’s time for the charade to come to an end,” Todd says. “The planned end of the show is season ten, I know how to get us there. I’ve spent the last three years guiding everyone to a point where the Destiel reveal won’t be a shock, I just have to get her into harbor.”

“Where do I fit in?”

“You spend enough time on Tumblr, you know the kids have figured out that the NSA is watching them. Some of them have sussed out my existence as Todd too. Better to prove both things at once.”

“You’re talking like you--” Gilbert stumbles to a stop, the last piece finally falling into place. Todd the No Homo Intern is just a disguise for Jeremy Carver. That’s why... “Oh. It really is intentional then?”

“We’ve been writing Dean as queer since the pilot. I’m tired of hiding it in fear of ratings.”

Gilbert nods, relaxing for the first time since he saw the memo meant for him. “I meant it, I need a change of career. Just let me know when I should head west.”

Todd makes an affirmative sound before hanging up, rushing out to do... well, something cool, Gilbert thinks. He’s in LA after all.

* * *

They talk back and forth a bit over the summer, as Gilbert slowly becomes adjusted to Jeremy’s plots and plans. He puts in his resignation, making a point of mentioning the agency’s multiple moral and legal failings, before returning to his cramped apartment and canceling his lease there.

“Where will you go?” Jeremy asks. He’s already back at work, up in Vancouver this week, Gilbert thinks, helping Jensen get set up to direct.

Gilbert shrugs, even though Jeremy can’t see him. “I sent my resume to a few places in Washington state and Oregon. Surely someone will want to hire me to keep the government out of their users’ info. And if not, well, I’m still a pretty decent programmer and Microsoft is always hiring.”

“But you’re still on board to be in Vancouver in September?”

“I wouldn’t back out now, can I?”

In the end, he gets hired by a security firm out of Austin who encourages him to work from home, wherever that might be. He’ll still need to fly in occasionally, but they promise it’ll be once a quarter, maybe less, and everything else will be done online.

His decent savings in DC is a huge savings account in Washington, as long as he stays out of the big cities. So he picks a small city in the south-east corner of the state and sets up shop. It’s a lot smaller than what he’s used to, but it seems healthy enough. Its going to take some getting used to, but he thinks he can hack it. Maybe literally, if he needs to.

The plane tickets arrive without warning, a flight from Portland to Vancouver, even though it’s barely a five hour drive. Gilbert nods, packs up his computer and passport on the appointed day, and... goes to Canada.

He doesn’t recognize the production assistant who picks him up at the airport, although she looks irritated by the giant squid hat perched on her head. “Are you Gilbert?” she asks, taking his small bag and handing him a water bottle, like she already knows the answer and is just asking for formalities sake.

“I can-- Yeah, I’m Gilbert. You can take the squid hat off now, it’s--”

“I kinda like it, actually,” she says, reaching up to pet a tentacle. “The No Homo Intern gets a lot more respect than Julia the PA from Costuming, you know? J-- Todd is mostly wearing a sombrero these days anyway. Something about the heat.”

It’s a full fifteen degrees cooler outside than it was when he left home, and it’s wasn’t a terribly warm day there, but sure. Whatever works. “If he says so.”

“Anyway, you ready to get out of here? It’s still a bit of a drive to where we’re filming.”

Julia is gregarious and charming, more than willing to answer the questions Gilbert has been too embarrassed to ask Jeremy about his whole role in this thing, and filling him in on the dos and don’t of set. Most of it he would have figured out on his own, but it’s still good to know ahead of time.

Julia passes him off to another PA when they get to set, hurrying away with the squid hat bouncing along on her head while Gilbert gets steered towards the offices. The set moves much quicker than he was expecting, dozens of people jogging around and looking busy while two grown men chase each other on mini-racer bikes in an open area beyond the trailers.

Gilbert tries to make small talk with his guide, but the man doesn’t respond beyond one word answers and grunts.

“Your guest, sir,” the PA says, knocking perfunctorily on a door labeled “Thompson” before disappearing around a corner.

A hand creeps out the door, grabs Gilbert’s wrist, and drags him inside. “Wha--”

“Hello, Gilbert. Hope your flight wasn’t too bad,” Jeremy says, passing him a water bottle as soon as the door is closed. “Apologies for the mess-- things are complicated this week.”

The writers’ office is cluttered, but in a vaguely impersonal way-- Gilbert doesn’t think this is Jeremy or Robbie’s clutter as much as it’s _everyone’s_ clutter gathering on flat surfaces. Either way, he doesn’t care, his office isn’t much better.

“Robbie, Gilbert,” Jeremy says, waving a hand between them. “Let’s figure out how we’re going to do this.”

They already have Gilbert’s roll worked out, and he’s been carefully fanning certain corners of Tumblr with information regarding the No Homo Intern for months now-- him showing up on screen will bring joy to a lot of hearts, he’s pretty sure.

Or hatred. It could go either way.

* * *

Alyssa finishes the last note of _Single Man Tear_ and the scarecrow explodes, showering the audience in purple goop.

It tastes better than Gilbert expects, although still not great. Sweet, and kinda like jello.

Standing, he mentally thanks Robbie for insisting that he, at least, got to use the rain poncho and starts clapping, leading the crowd of ‘parents’ into cheering for their kids.

They did it, if not the way he expected.

The No Homo Intern is no more, unmasked as he is by the explosion of his muse! Or something. Gilbert’s got a few weeks before he has to work out how to steer that conversation. He’ll figure it out later, when he’s not riding the high of watching Jeremy and Robbie pull this off. And really, if this is the 200th, the rest of the season should be fun to watch too.


End file.
